Page 18 of Savior

He works the ball gag out of my mouth, and I open and close my jaw a few times, pain etching through my face like a snake set loose. It’s as if it’s digging through the recesses of my bone to plant venom as it seeks its exit. Next, he unties my hands and ankles.

I want nothing more than to spring up onto my feet and back away from him, but every part of my body aches, and I don’t have the strength to do so.

He helps me to my feet, and reluctantly, I let him.

We stand for the most prolonged moment, staring at one another, neither of us speaking.

I don’t notice his movement until it’s too late. The back of his hand smacks across my cheek, tossing me sideways. I catch myself on the front of his desk, fighting the tears that well.

“You made a mockery of me in front of Don Adamo. It won’t happen again, will it, whore?”

Whore

I’ve heard my father call my mother that so often that it has lost its luster. So much meaning hangs from the weight of one word. I find words meaningless in my life, so he doesn’t hit his mark.

I stand straighter, eyeing him sternly. “I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller.”

The sass earns me another backhand. This time, it comes from the other side.

I nearly whimper but keep a lid on it.

“Even the wildest stallions will break. It might take time, but I will break you down bit by fucking bit,” he growls into my ear as I clasp my face in my hand.

I turn into his cross stare, unnerving him for the flash of a second.

His pupils dilate, and his snarl deepens.

“You bought the wrong girl. I’ve seen much darker things in this world besides you.”

His eyes widen. “Then I’ve bought just the right girl.”

Shock whistles through me. I’ve played into his hand. My winning personality and ignorant courage seem to be what he looks for in a girl.

Fuck.

As I plan how to survive him, he quickly decides on his next move. And it’s not one I’m expecting, though it should’ve been.

His hand dips into my hair, tightening to the point of searing pain before he whips me around and bends me over his desk.

I’d been dressed in a black dress that I’m sure is now covered in my blood from his beatings, but he doesn’t seem to mind the metallic scent.

He bares my backside, ripping off my panties as I thrash and try to fight him.

“It’s no use, whore. We should fix that fighting spirit now rather than let it grow further.” He lays his massive body over my back as I still fight against him, but he’s too big. Too heavy.

Tears spring free for the first time since I was ten, and I beg.

“Please, don’t do this.”

His laugh is menacing and hollow. “Oh, pity. Begging already? I thought you’d be more fun than that,” he sounds off as I feel the warm skin of his cock brush across my ass as he tries to still me enough to rape me from behind.

Flashes of what happened to me down an alley as a young girl try to grip hold of me as he continues to force my body where he wants it. I recall what Mom taught me about compartmentalizing and locking myself inside my secret room in my psyche, where he can’t reach me.

I try to shove away the tears and do the same as I feel him press inside my ass, thrusting rapidly once he feels like he’s won.

And he has.

I find a point on the wall before me and focus on it.

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